Karma is Me, Karma is You



It’s easy to be me, well yeah, from the outside. 
The pretty girl with a new hairstyle every other weekend. 
The girl with the cute, bitch resting face. 
I’ll tell you a short story.

My nemesis came dressed in a tux, simple leather shoes, and hair-in-fingers I fell. Deep. 
I mean, does the devil need to introduce himself? 
Weeks turned months, I’m in his arms. The devil with the biceps. 

Common sense out the window, it was raining. 
Cold outside but warm inside, we had a baby. 

He came in and came in. He had all the focus but he took mine: I was his by choice. I’m flipping and I’m cussing him out, but he can’t be hurt. 

He asked me if I love driving. I told him no; not cause I didn’t know how to but cause I didn’t know where we were headed anymore. 

Now I’m on the cold bench—spread, battered kitty, and thighs bleeding.
Would’ve been in his warm arms, basking and glowing from all that fake lovin’. 

Yeah they cut it out, yeah a part of him and me, a part of us. 

I’m left bitter and aching for karma but she’s only coming for me...



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